March Madness
by Namaste
Summary: House has been banned from the NCAA basketball pool. You don't think that will stop him, do you?
1. Chapter 1

"I just got the strangest call." Wilson covered the distance between the door and House's desk in four steps. "Williams from ortho just called to congratulate me. Seems I'm in first place so far in their NCAA pool."

House glanced over the top of his glasses. "Mazel tov." He looked back down at the journal on his desk.

"Here's the strange part: I don't recall entering their NCAA pool."

House took off his glasses, leaned back. "Maybe you forgot."

"No," Wilson crossed his arms over his chest. "I think I'd remember that. After all I seem to remember you bitching that they banned you from their pool this year."

"For no good reason," House said.

"Right," Wilson nodded his head slightly, "for no good reason. Or because they're just jealous of your mad skills in picking teams, or maybe -- just maybe -- it's because you hacked into their database last year when you started losing."

House snorted, picked up the phone and held it out to Wilson. "First, the year 1998 called. They want their slang back. 'Mad skills?'" He shook his head. "Second, I didn't hack into anything."

Wilson didn't say anything, just raised his eyebrows.

"Some resident left a computer on. I just ..."

"Took advantage of that and erased all the names from the spread sheet so that they couldn't tell who won. Then you shredded all the original paper copies."

"Is it my fault that they didn't lock the filing cabinet?" House shrugged, put the phone back on the cradle. "OK, so nobody won, but nobody lost either. Besides, I was doing them a favor."

Wilson just stared at him.

"They needed to learn something about protecting confidential files. Anyone off the street could have walked in and accessed patient information."

"So what lesson are you teaching them this year, to check IDs before accepting anyone's money?"

"Why are you bitching? You're in first place."

"I'm not bitching, I'm just ..." Wilson uncrossed his arms, pulled over one of the chairs and sat, stretching his legs out in front of him. "Just tell me who I picked."

House pulled open a drawer and took out a folder, started flipping through the sheets until he came to one in the middle.

"North Carolina over UCLA," he said, and held it out to Wilson. "Very boring. Very safe. Very you."

Wilson ignored the paper in House's hand, grabbed the file from the desk instead. "What's wrong with betting on a sure thing?"

"Nothing, if you're a girl."

Wilson shook his head, looked over photocopied pages, one with Taub's name at the top, one with Thirteen's, one with Kutner's. He stared at another name for a moment before he recognized it. "You submitted one for Coma Guy?"

"It's a big hospital," House said. "They'll just figure it's some night shift nurse no one can remember."

Wilson put the page back, looked at the next one. "Cuddy?"

"Pffft. She picked USC to make it to the Elite Eight," House said. "No one's going to be calling to congratulate her." He looked at Wilson's sheet again. "You, on the other hand, somehow picked Siena over Vanderbilt. How'd you manage that?"

"Guess I got lucky." Wilson closed the file, tossed it onto House's desk. "Why not just enter someone else's pool? Chase would be glad to take your money."

"Betting with Chase is like betting for North Carolina over UCLA: boring."

"And getting past ortho's ban?"

House smiled. "Much more interesting."

"So what's to keep me from telling them that you forged my entry?"

"Loyalty."

Wilson shook his head.

"Revenge? Simpson voted with Vogler to kick you off the board."

Wilson leaned forward. "Cash," he said. "I hear there's nearly five hundred bucks in the pot. My entry wins, I keep half."

"I did all the work," House said. "Sixty-fourty."

"Fifty-fifty," Wilson said, "or I mention something in passing about how well the guy in a coma is doing."

House looked up at the ceiling for a moment, then at Wilson. "Give me ten bucks to cover your half of the bet, and you're in."

Wilson paused.

"Ten bucks for more than two hundred bucks," House said. He held out his hand.

Wilson nodded, reached into his pocket and took out his wallet. He fished out a bill and handed it over. "North Carolina," he said. "Sounds like a sure thing."

"Right." House took the bill, put it in his own pocket. He smiled. "Trust me. It'll be easy money."


	2. Sweet Sixteen

"Why, exactly, do we care about Xavier?"

House looked over at Wilson, then turned toward the obstetrics intern who sat at a table, eating soup and scribbling something in a notebook. "Because you bet on them, remember?" His voice was raised, directed at the woman's back. She ignored him.

"Guess I forgot," Wilson said. He stood behind the couch, watching the game as it played out on the TV screen. "It's hard to keep them all straight. Almost like I hadn't even filled out the bracket."

The lounge was nearly empty, just Wilson, House and the intern who was ignoring both them and the game.

Wilson rounded the couch, sat beside House. "I thought North Carolina was playing now."

House shook his head. "In a few minutes." He took a piece of licorice out of a bag, then held the bag open for Wilson. "West Virginia sucks," he said.

Wilson looked at the score, nodded. "But that's good for us. Right?"

House looked back at the intern again. She still didn't seem to be paying attention to them. "Everybody and their brother bet on North Carolina and UCLA for the finals. You want to win, you'll need points in the Sweet Sixteen to beat everyone else. You're golden, except for Davidson."

"I hear Thirteen actually picked Davidson to make it to the Sixteen," Wilson said. "I can't imagine anyone who would have been crazy enough to do that. Pure luck, of course."

House glared at him. "Maybe she knew what she was doing."

Wilson took a bite of the licorice. "Doubt it."

The screen suddenly switched from the white and dark blue uniforms of the Xavier and West Virginia game to the white and crimson of North Carolina and Washington. Wilson leaned forward, watching the teams take the floor. He winced as the basketball clanged off the rim for North Carolina.

House turned up the volume and the room filled with the sound of cheers and shouts and sneakers squeaking on the hard wooden floor. Wilson had never played much organized basketball, never seemed to have time -- there was always something he needed to finish for one class or the other -- but he remembered shooting baskets with his brothers in the driveway, the way the ball would feel as it slipped off his fingers, arcing toward the basket for a perfect lay-up.

He looked at House. "You ever play?" He could picture him, tall and lanky, fearless as he charged down the court, setting himself up under the basket and daring opposing players to run him down, taking the foul and laughing with every bump and hit.

House shook his head, didn't take his eyes off the screen. "Not my sport," he said. A North Carolina guard drew himself up in front of the three point line, jumped and shot, the ball slipping through the net. He finally turned, looked at Wilson. "We never stayed at one school long enough for team sports." His voice was soft. Wilson guessed he didn't want the intern to hear.

House looked back at the screen, cheered as North Carolina broke away, finally took the lead. Wilson leaned back, took another bite of licorice.

He heard a chair scraping and turned to see the intern getting up from the table. She went into the kitchen area, rinsed out her bowl. For a minute he thought she'd leave, but she settled herself back at the table, drew her notebook closer and wrote something on the pages.

"So why are we watching here?" Wilson asked, turning back to House. He hunched forward, lowered his voice. "More privacy at your place. You can cheer for whoever you want."

House pointed toward the set. "High def," he pointed out.

"You could always buy a new TV, you know."

"The old one still works."

"But the old one's not high def."

"But this one is."

"You have to share this one."

"Not tonight."

Wilson raised his hands in defeat, knowing he'd never get a straight answer, guessing if there was one it had something to do with House using the TV as some way to establish his territory in the lounge. "Fine."

As the half ended, Wilson stood and stretched. He walked over to the vending machines. "Get me a Coke," House said.

Wilson stopped, turned back to House. "Give me a buck."

"Left my wallet in my office."

Wilson didn't move. Just waited.

House finally shifted slightly, took the brown wallet out from his pocket and tossed it to him. "Get some chips while you're at it," he said.

Wilson fished out two dollar bills, fed one into the soft drink machine, pressed the button for a Coke and heard it drop. He put another bill in and hit the button for a Diet Coke for himself.

He handed House the can and a bag of barbecue chips.

"Looks like West Virginia's got some life left in them," House said, nodding at the score. The Mountaineers had climbed within just a few points of Xavier and the TV switched from North Carolina back to the Xavier and West Virginia game.

Wilson slouched down on the couch. "What happens if Xavier loses?"

"West Virginia advances to the Elite Eight."

"Thanks. I figured that much out." Wilson took a drink. "I mean in the pool."

House shrugged. "Depends on what happens Friday. Three points from an Xavier win would be a nice buffer for ..." he glanced back at the intern, "you," he said loudly. He turned back to the TV. "But you've got another shot with Michigan State."

Wilson watched the players run from one end of the court to the other, moving the ball from player to player, watching it sail toward the basket -- sometimes falling through for two points, sometimes bouncing off the rim.

"Where is Xavier anyway?" Wilson asked.

"Does it matter?"

"You don't know either, do you?"

House scowled. "Of course I do," he said, but went silent.

The West Virginia player jumped, sank the shot.

"Overtime," Wilson said.

House took a drink, stared at the screen but he didn't seem to be watching the game. West Virginia took the lead, tried to stretch it out. One foul ball bounced away, one fell in for a three-point lead.

"Cincinnati," House said.

"What?"

"Cincinnati. Xavier is in Cincinnati." House nodded. "Told you I knew it."

Xavier took a one point lead, then hit a three-point shot to build its lead to four.

Wilson smiled. "Never doubted you."

"And North Carolina won," House said, pointing to the other game's score listed up in the corner of the screen. He grinned as the clock ran down, Xavier walking off the court as the winners. "Looks like you know how to pick winners."

Wilson smiled, finished off his Diet Coke. "Lucky for us," he said. "So who did I pick for the next game, Louisville or Tennessee?"


	3. Final Four

"What's wrong with cheering for Davidson?"

House turned to Wilson, the beer bottle stalled halfway between the table and his mouth. "You actually have to ask?"

"Yes." Wilson angled himself on the couch so he could keep one eye on the TV screen and one eye on House. "We're tied for the lead in the pool no matter who wins this game, so why shouldn't I cheer for Davidson?"

"Because they're a cliche," House said. "The Cinderella team, David versus Goliath." He finally took a drink. "They're boring."

"I thought you said picking North Carolina over UCLA was boring. So how is picking the underdog boring?"

"The underdog," House said, "another cliche." He pointed the bottle at Wilson, took another drink.

"You're just pissed because you didn't put any money on Davidson to make the Elite Eight, never mind the Final Four," Wilson said. "It drives you nuts that you can't fit them into some mathematical formula and predict how they're going to do on any given day."

"Consistency is a virtue," House said. "A good team shouldn't have to depend on luck for a win."

"Curry's got twenty points for Davidson so far. He's been the best player in the tournament. How, exactly, is he a fluke?"

House turned away from him, looked at the TV. "Better question is, how come the Bitch let you out of the house for an entire afternoon -- an afternoon over here?"

"I don't need Amber's permission to hang out." Wilson shifted on the couch, looked at the screen again, winced as the ball rattled inside the rim for Davidson, then popped back out again.

House looked over at him. "She left for the radiology conference already, didn't she?"

Wilson took a drink. "That has nothing to do with it. We're adults, we each have our own lives. She understands that."

House snorted, but didn't say anything.

A commercial came on and House got up, went into the kitchen. Wilson could hear him pulling out a drawer, hear silverware rattling. It had been a good day. He loved Amber, loved spending time with her, loved seeing the way she could shed her armor, become someone in private that no one ever saw outside the walls of their apartment.

But this ... he'd missed this. Missed just hanging out. Missed talking about nothing, and everything, and nothing again. Even missed hearing House bitching about whatever was on TV. He still saw him just as much at the hospital, but there was always something going on there, always some interruption hiding just around the next corner. It seemed like they never had enough time, but today, they had time and there were no patients, no medical or moral crises pushing at them, making life hell. There was just them. And a game. And a couple of beers.

"See?" House walked back into the living room with a sandwich in one hand, his cane waving at the TV as Davidson missed a shot. "A consistent team would have gotten that basket."

"You could have offered to make me a sandwich while you were in there," Wilson said.

"Why? You know where everything is if you want one."

Wilson shook his head and watched the game. There were three points separating the teams with three minutes to go. House cheered as Kansas stole the ball.

"I'll give you good odds that Davidson won't make it," House said.

"Pass."

"You haven't even heard the stakes yet."

"You've had me catering your dinners and lunches once a week since January. I finally pay off that bet next week. I'd like to actually be in the clear for a few days." He took a drink. "A few hours at least."

"They're good," House said. "Sure you don't want to hear?"

"You're going to tell me what they are even if I say no, aren't you?"

"Davidson wins, and I'll stop calling her the Bitch."

Wilson shifted, looked at House. "For how long?"

"Two weeks."

Wilson studied him, saw the way that House was perched on the edge of the couch, could tell he wanted to bet on something -- on anything. And he knew that House could tell what it would take to tempt him. "And what do you want from me?"

House looked at the TV, looked at the score again. Kansas was up by five points now. "Half your winnings from the pool."

"We haven't won the pool yet," Wilson pointed out.

"We will."

Wilson looked away, watched Curry shoot for Davidson, watched it fall short. Davidson probably wouldn't win. Of course there was no guarantee that they'd win the pool either. It could just be a moot point. But if Davidson pulled it off... He looked at House again. "Four weeks."

House hesitated.

Wilson nodded toward the TV. "Odds are in your favor," he said.

House nodded. "Four weeks."

Davidson hit one basket, then another. Wilson leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, applauding as Davidson pulled within three, then within two.

Amber would laugh if she found out about the bet. She'd see it as a personal victory every time House said her name. She'd love Wilson for taking it, and House ... maybe House would just get used to calling her by her real name, rather than the one he'd given her. Maybe it'd stick.

Seventeen seconds and Davidson took possession. All they needed was a three-pointer to win, or a simple layup to tie the game, force it into overtime.

Ten seconds and Curry was driving past the half court line, trying to shake himself free. House wasn't saying anything, just watching the screen, his posture matching Wilson's -- elbows on knees, leaning forward, taking in every move.

Five seconds and Curry was being double teamed, with nowhere to go. Two seconds and he passed it off to a teammate. One second and Davidson shot, the ball soaring through the air as the buzzer sounded. The ball was high in the air, then dropping toward the basket, falling.

Wilson held his breath.

The ball hit the backboard to the left of the rim, bounced away. Nothing.

Wilson sank back against the cushions.

House cheered, then turned, a smile on his face. "You lost," he said. "What a bitch that must be for you."


	4. Changing the Game

"What if Memphis wins?"

"Get over here, and I'll tell you." House hung up the cell phone, tossed it on the table.

The phone rang again two minutes later. House ignored it, turned up the volume on the TV.

It rang again five minutes later. House picked it up.

"I can't leave," Wilson said, "not yet."

"Your patient's going to die whether you're there or not."

"And UCLA's going to lose whether I'm there or not. Difference is, no one's dying over at your place."

House groaned as another UCLA shot bounced off the rim. "I wouldn't be so sure."

"How bad is it?"

"Memphis is up three at the half," House said.

Wilson grunted. House heard voices in the background.

"I've got to go," Wilson said. "It probably won't be too much longer," he said said softly.

"Bring beer."

There were five minutes left in the game by the time Wilson got there. He set the beer on the table, then put a bottle of Jack Daniel's next to it. "I checked the score," he said.

House held up a glass. "I'm ahead of you." He took a sip, ice cubes rattling as he put it on down on the table.

Wilson unzipped his jacket, tossed it on the chair near the door then went into the kitchen. There was pizza on the counter. He opened the box. It had already cooled down, a grease stain spreading out on across the cardboard. He shook his head but put two slices on plate, put the plate in the microwave.

He took a glass from the cupboard, walked back into the living room. "Thirteen points?" He poured himself a shot.

Memphis hit another shot. "Fifteen now," House said. He took a beer from the six pack.

The microwave beeped and Wilson went back into the kitchen to get his plate. By the time he made it back to the couch, there were less than thirty seconds to go. "Eighteen points?"

When the whistle finally blew, Memphis had won, 78-63.

Wilson shook his head. "No way we can win now," he said. "Right?"

"Nope," House said. He sat back against the couch. "We needed both UCLA and North Carolina in the championship."

Wilson took a bite of his pizza, washed it down with beer. He looked over at House, then at the screen again where Memphis was celebrating its victory.

"So why are you smiling?" Wilson asked.

House looked at him, raised his beer to his lips. "Kutner picked Memphis."

Wilson leaned forward, glanced to his left and his right. "Does Kutner know this?"

"He can't hear you," House pointed out, "and no, he doesn't."

"Has anyone else picked Memphis?"

House's smile grew wider. "No one with enough points to catch him."

Wilson grinned, bit off another piece of pizza, watched as the Memphis celebration faded and North Carolina and Kansas took the floor.

"So why are you telling me? Why not just take Kutner's money and run?"

"I'll need someone to pick up his winnings," House said. "If I go ..."

"They'll figure it out as soon as they see you," Wilson said.

Kansas took the first points of the game.

"It's easier to have you pick it up then try to explain the ways of the world to Kutner," House said.

"Do I have to ask what's in it for me?"

"You haven't done any work."

"Think of it as carrying charge." Wilson leaned back. "I'll make it easy for you -- twenty percent."

"That's a hell of a tip."

Wilson raised his eyebrows. "What are your alternatives?"

House looked at him, then looked over at the TV screen where North Carolina was falling further and further behind. "Fine," he said. "Twenty percent."

Wilson nodded, finished off his pizza. He winced as another North Carolina shot bounced off the rim.

House put his feet up on the coffee table, pointed at the screen with his beer as Kansas extended its lead to twelve points, then fourteen. "This is why you should never bet on a sure thing. They get comfortable, and then they screw up."

"I wonder why I ever picked them."

"Because you suck at picking teams."

"Do I have to point out here that you're the one who actually picked them?"

"I was trying to make them think I was you," House said. "I had to cover my tracks."

Another North Carolina shot, another miss. Wilson leaned back. It didn't matter who won the game. Not anymore. He grinned.

"Memphis," he said. "I like Kutner's chances."


	5. Rock Chalk Jayhawk

"So who picked Kansas?" Wilson closed the door between House's office and the conference room. Thirteen glanced over as the door shut, but then went back to her notes.

House took a file from his backpack and put it on his desk, then took out his iPod and put it next to the docking station. "You stalking me, or is it just a coincidence that you show up ninety seconds after I get here?"

"I just ..." Wilson put his hands in his pockets, "I just happened to be on the balcony and saw you drive up."

House sat down. "It's thirty-eight degrees," he pointed out.

"So?"

"So, if you were that curious, you could have come by and watched the game and found out then, rather than risking hypothermia this morning."

"I told you," Wilson said. "I was tied up last night."

"I don't want to hear about your sex life."

"I told you," Wilson repeated, taking a seat across from House. "Amber's parents were only going to be in town for a day."

"And you wanted to make a good impression.

"And you're avoiding the question. Who picked Kansas?"

House leaned back in his chair, drummed his fingers on his desk. "Apparently, Kushma did."

"Kushma? Kushma the hand surgeon Kushma?"

"Know any other Kushmas around here?"

"Not Thirteen?"

"Nope."

"Not Foreman or Taub or Cuddy or ..."

"Nope."

"Not even Coma Guy?"

"You expected good picks from a guy in a coma?"

"No, from you." Wilson put his hands over his eyes. "You forged entries from eight people."

"Right."

"You put nearly twenty bucks into the pot for each one of those forged entries."

"Still right."

"And not one of them picked Kansas?"

"What's your point?"

Wilson just shook his head.

"Thirteen picked Kansas to lose to UNLV in the second round in an upset," House said. "Foreman had them losing to Georgetown in the Sweet Sixteen. Cuddy and Cameron both had them losing to Vanderbilt. You, Taub and Coma Guy all thought they'd lose to North Carolina in the Final Four. Is it my fault North Carolina choked?"

"Eight entries and not one of them picked Kansas," Wilson said.

"I didn't hear you complaining about my picks earlier, when you were winning."

"Fine."

"Besides, winning wasn't the point."

Wilson blinked. "Since when have you not cared about winning?"

"The point," House said, "was to beat ortho at its stupid ban. They thought they could kick me out of their pool. They didnÕt.Ó

"Yeah, and all it cost you was a hundred and sixty bucks."

"A hundred and fifty, with your ten bucks."

"Fine, a hundred and fifty. Great way to prove a point. And best of all," Wilson leaned forward, "best of all, they don't even know that you pulled one over on them. So what does that prove?"

"The fact that they don't even know I outsmarted them is the best part," House said. "It's not a perfect murder if you don't get away with it."

"So it doesn't bother you that no one knows -- that you can't brag about it to a soul."

House shrugged. "Except for you."

"Except for ..." Wilson stopped, thought about the call he'd gotten back when the tournament began. It had come from Williams, one of the few guys in ortho who managed to get along with House. "Did you tell Williams to call me?"

"I might have run into him in the cafeteria and asked how the pool was going," House said. "I might have even said something about how you'd love hearing that you were winning."

"You set me up." Wilson stood, walked across the room and then back to House's desk. "You made sure I'd figure out something was going on just so you could have someone in on your scheme."

House grinned.

"You're insane." Wilson shook his head, paced in front of House's desk.

"You loved it."

"It was ..." Wilson stopped, shrugged, "fun." He sat again. "And next year, I'm picking my own teams."

"You'll lose," House said.

Wilson smiled. "Want to bet?"


End file.
